There was a secret country located in the middle of the Earth’s largest ocean that was hidden from the rest of the world. The country was isolated, and the people were friendly, not knowing any hardships or pains of war or disease. It was a dry, but manageable place with farms and cities balancing out the share of the country’s land. Children played as their parents watched over them, chatting with glasses of lemonade laced with champagne dangled between their fingers. This county didn’t have a name, but was known to the citizens just as “home.”
One early morning during a soft shower with the cool breezes of November blowing against the house, a baby boy was blessed upon a couple. The baby was named Lokni, and the couple was extremely happy for their good fortune. Lokni was a very good child. He slept during the night and cried only when he was hungry. It was always raining when he was crying. His parents thought this only to be a coincidence, but as the time went by, they realized that Lokni was responsible for the sudden showers that occurred. Whenever he cried, rain would trickle from the ash grey clouds that would soon appear hovering above. He grew and grew, finally entering school for the first time. People soon learned of his unique gift. He scratched his knee, rain fell. He broke his favorite toy, more rain. He was famous in the country, and everyone always stared in awe when he passed by.
It was on the night of Lokni’s seventh birthday when a state of crisis was formally addressed to the country. The country was running out of water and having severe droughts. Crops were dying and less and less fresh water was becoming available to the people. The government of this country met to discuss what actions should be taken. The President stood in the dully lit conference room. He was pacing behind his chair, running his hand along the cold leather. He finally sat down, his face buried in his palms, unsure of what to do. A young man stood from his seat, and adjusting his glasses said, “I know what we are facing is devastating. There is no other place we can go to, and no one else to help us.”
“There is only one thing we can try to do, sir,” said a serious looking man to the President. “I’m afraid our only chance of survival is the boy of rain, Lokni.”
“To cause rain we must make him as sad as possible,” an older woman said. “What do you do to cause ultimate sadness in a child?”
Few people looked up at her.
“Take the parents away from them.”
“We have to do this,” The President said gravely. “We must save our country. Take his parents and bring them here, but make sure that Lokni doesn’t know we took them.”
A cocky looking man stood aggressively and said, “What if that’s not enough?”
“It will be,” The President said.
The cocky man plumped back in his seat, still very against the plan. The President typed orders into the computer in the next room to the local private police force to capture and hold Lokni’s parents. Before the letter was sent, however, the cocky man hacked into the document and changed the orders. Instead of taking Lokni’s parents, the cocky man ordered them to be killed. The police force, though with deep remorse, broke into the house and murdered Lokni’s parents. They left before Lokni returned from playing to discover the bloody bodies of his beloved parents sprawled out on top of each other on the floor. Lokni fell to his knees and sobbed. Thunder rang across the black sky as rain poured. The people ran from their houses and danced with joy. But, the rain kept coming. Lokni kept sobbing and sobbing until he was hysterical with grief. The country started to flood. People panicked and tried to run, but nobody can run from a rising ocean. Soon every citizen gathered in the middle of the country around Lokni, one by one drowning as the ocean crept closer. Soon there was only Lokni left, standing on a small circle of land, tears flowing from his eyes. The water was to his knees; his chest; his chin. Then the boy of rain drowned in his own tears while the secret country was submerged by the largest ocean.
Legends say that on that very spot in the middle of the largest ocean, a storm never stops. Boats go by without a single scratch, but the passengers always feel a tinge of grief when they pass the everlasting storm.
-Addy
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